The Once and Future King
by Leonhard van Euler
Summary: As Harry Potter arrives at Privet Drive a defeated man. Having just witnessed his Headmaster and Mentor die before his eyes, he is not prepared to be thrown into a whole other adventure: that of becoming HRH Prince Hadrian Windsor, second in line to the throne of Britain. But as he quickly finds out, looming upon the horizon, the threat of Voldemort's power continues to grow...
1. Chapter 1

**Not updating other stories due to university stress. Wrote this in four hours on my way back to uni from the holidays. No pairings as of yet. Beware: references to the netflix series 'The Crown'.**

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Towns and countryside whipped past the window of Hogwarts Express, speeding by so fast that it all seemed more of a blur to Harry than anything else. A vision of Dumbledore'S corpse swam to the forefront of his mind and he reflexively closed his eyes to keep the emotion at bay. He felt a hand squeeze his knee: Hermione was staring at him, eyebrows drawn into a concerned frown.

"We'll find out who this R.A.B. is," Hermione said quietly, so as not to wake Ron who lay sprawled on the other bench in their compartment.

In his pocket, he could feel the weight — both emotional and physical — of the fake locket, for which Dumbledore had died. Slipping it onto his hand, he gently opened the piece of jewellery and stared down at the note that had been placed within. R.A.B.

Hermione squeezed his knee once more and then her hand fell away. She soon became absorbed with her piece of 'light reading' which for once, actually _was_ relatively light.

Soon, the scenery outside began to turn greyer and darker and brick buildings began growing around them. Then suddenly the train was turning corners and travelling through city tunnels. Finally they began slowing and Hermione poked Ron awake who stared at them blearily before grumbling something about 'not disturbing people in their sleep'. Hermione shut the book she'd been reading and tucked it in her satchel.

They spilled out onto platform and 9 3/4, picking up their trunks from the luggage carriage as they went. Out there they were greeted by the Weasleys, who they'd seen at Dumbledore's funeral only a few hours ago.

"Oh Harry…" Mrs Weasley began, but found herself at loss for words. Her husband stood at her side, hands primly folded behind his back and standing upright, but he too looked emotionally distressed.

"I'm fine," Harry muttered on reflex. Hermione shot him a disbelieving look.

"It's just until your birthday, dear," Mrs Weasley began, eyes flickering to the three figures cowering together several feet away. Three figures that Harry recognised very well.

"Dumbledore left clear instructions to the Order, regarding your 17th birthday," Mr Weasley whispered lowly so as not to be overhead.

"If those muggles try anything…" Ron's face betrayed no humour but Harry cracked a smile nonetheless. They hugged goodbye.

Once everyone had said their goodbyes, Harry trepidatiously approached the Dursleys. Vernon's piggy eyes were jumping from one wizarding family to the next. Dudley, who for some reason had tagged along, was clutching his buttocks and Petunia was staring at everything with an almost amusing mixture of hate and fear.

"Come along boy, we don't have all day!" Were the first words out of Vernon's mouth. Harry almost rolled his eyes at the so-typical behaviour.

"Great to see you too," he muttered lowly. Dudley shot him a suspicious look.

"What do these… _freaks_ ," Vernon lowered his voice once they had emerged into the muggle King's Cross Station. "Think they are? Waltzing around in those silly dresses?!"

"Frightful, simply frightful," Petunia said haughtily, raising her nose into the air.

"They're cloaks, aren't they?" Dudley said, voice surprisingly lacking the usual hostility. Harry blinked at him — so did his parents.

"What?" Vernon barked.

"They're called cloaks, not dresses, right Harry?"

Harry slowly nodded, mouth slightly open in surprise. Dudley offered a small shrug. Once his parents were a little ahead and Harry and he were lagging behind, he nudged the Boy-Who-Lived.

"I, erm, began playing _Dungeons and Dragons_ a few weeks ago with a few mates… I know the sorcerers wear cloaks."

Harry hadn't the slightest idea what _Dungeons and Dragons_ was, but if it was anything like Dudley implied it to be, he supposed it was a game that focused on the fantastical world, which to Harry, was his reality.

"Do you have dragons and all?"

"Er, yeah. I fought one in fourth year."

Dudley's eyes widened in newfound respect and he seemed about to say something when the little family stopped in front of Vernon's newly polished car and the conversation had to be cut off. The car drive was tense, more so than usual. Harry knew that the Dursleys had been approached by the order in previous weeks and from what Kingsley had told him, he had gathered that they were going to move once he turned seventeen.

Vernon made fun of the houses leading up to theirs — remarking on the less than optimal gardens and imperfect facades. What he perhaps failed to note, was that Harry was usually the one taking care of the garden, hence its flawlessness at the end of every summer. Harry was preparing to see his summer prison house any moment now: with those ugly burgundy doors and white window-frames. It never seemed to change or evolve.

Only this time something _was_ different.

Parked directly in front of the house was a nondescript black car, perhaps somewhat more carefully and meticulously taken care of, than most cars that one saw. A gentleman with dark sunglasses (although it wasn't an altogether sunny day) leant against it. Another (with an impressive moustache) stood directly by the door. He had evidently just rang the doorbell.

Upon hearing the sounds of Vernon's loud engine, he turned and began strolling over to them.

"Who's that?" Dudley asked, leaning forwards in his seat to get a better look at the man.

"Stay inside," Vernon growled as he parked in the little driveway. However, as he got out of said car, his whole demeanour changed and he became the manager of a drilling firm once more, ever so suave and sleazy.

As he and the tall, moustached gentleman spoke, Harry turned his gaze to the house opposite and the neighbours on either side. Everywhere, some person's head was peaking out the window or over the hedge, attempting to overhear what situation that Potter boy had gotten into _this_ time.

"BOY!" Came from outside. Harry blinked dazedly as he attempted to jolt himself into the present.

"You heard him, _Potter_ ," aunt Petunia hissed. Harry rolled his eyes and joined the two men on the driveway.

"This man wants to talk to you." Vernon's moustache began to tremble with fury. He spun and turned towards the car, ushering his family to get into the house as soon as possible before he was caught talking to the moustached man any longer.

"You are Mr. Harry James Potter?" The man asked. He was very primly dressed in a dark bespoke suit and shoes that were so shiny, that Harry could see his own reflection in them. His hairline was receding, but he bore it gracefully, that is to say, without a comb over.

"Uh, who're you?" Harry's hand's folded behind his back, a finger or two touched his wand that he had placed in his enlarged back pocket. Better safe than sorry — constant vigilance, eh?

"Perhaps we should take this conversation inside?" The man said with a small, nervous smile. "It is… a sort of delicate matter, sir."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek somewhat indecisively. Theoretically the wards that had been placed around the house by his mother wouldn't allow anyone within it's walls with any ill intentions to Harry — they were supposed to hold until his seventeenth birthday anyway. Besides, Order agents had been stationed to guard him up until his birthday anyway and if he wasn't mistaken, he was pretty sure he'd seen Tonk's pink hair poking out over a bush from an invisibility cloak just a few moments ago.

Frowning, Harry nudged his head in the direction of the door. "After you."

The man hesitated for a short moment and then led the way.

The Dursleys were huddled up in the living room when they entered it. With a huff, both Vernon and Petunia disappeared into the kitchen and Dudley into his room. Harry inconspicuously transferred his wand from his pocket into the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt and sat down. The man remained standing.

"Please, sit." Harry waved a vague hand at the sofa opposite.

"You _are_ Harry Potter, are you not?" The man stressed. Harry squinted at him.

"And you are?"

"My name is Martin Charteris. I am the Assistant Private Secretary to the Sovereign and I have been sent here to represent her."

Harry stared at him blankly. Assistant-what to whom? Sovereign? He couldn't _possibly_ mean…

"The Queen, yes sir."

Harry's wand arm relaxed. The royal family was notoriously muggle, producing only the occasional muggle-born. There was no way the man before him was a wizard, especially not with that muggle sense of style. However, that begged the question: what the bloody hell did the bloody Queen of England want with _him_?

"And you are looking for me?" The 'for what' hung in the air unsaid. Charteris reached into the briefcase that he had placed on the floor and pulled out a small stack of documents. He coughed uncomfortably.

"A rather delicate matter has arise, sir."

"Right, and this has to do with the bloody Queen?" Harry asked with a small smirk. The man looked vaguely uncomfortable at Harry using that language. He almost rolled his eyes, muggles and their protocol…!

"As a matter-of-fact, yes. How much do you know about your parents, Mr. Potter?"

Harry frowned at the odd question. "Well, their names were James Potter and Lily Evans. I live with my sister's mother, her husband, and their son. Erm, I look like my dad, have my mother's eyes?"

Charteris licked his lips in the manner people did when they unenthusiastically were about to prove someone wrong. He laid out the first two documents onto the tabletop between them. A birth certificate and an adoption paper! With a trembling finger, Charteris slid it forwards. Frowning at his nervousness, Harry quickly raised it to his face, adjusted his glasses and began to read.

The first was a birth certificate proclaiming the birth of a Prince Hadrian George Philip Windsor in 1980, firstborn son to Charles Philip Arthur Windsor and a Diana Frances Spencer.

The second was an adoption paper for an unknown orphan who had been adopted by a James and Lily Potter just a week later.

A chill instantly ran down his spine. Was it possible that the James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans in this adoption paper were his own parents? Had they adopted him? He wasn't a Potter after all? Questions upon questions exploded in his mind, each more mind-shattering than the previous. Swallowing heavily, Harry placed both documents back on the table, not liking what Charteris was implying.

"On the sixth of August 1980, a week after His Royal Highness Prince Hadrian was born, he was stolen from St. Mary's Hospital in London. A day later, a Harry James Potter was adopted by a young couple in an orphanage merely two miles away from said hospital. This baby boy matched the exact description of the newly born Prince and the orphanage records show exact finger-print matches." Charteris managed this all with a sort of calm stare that seemed to penetrate Harry to his very depths. The assistant secretary placed a sheet with twenty fingerprints, the first ten matching the second set perfectly.

When he attempted to swallow, Harry found that his mouth was completely dry. After waiting for a moment to let that sink in, Charteris placed a fourth sheet on the table between them: a family tree.

His finger began at Queen Victoria (whose name Harry recognised), then dropped to Edward the seventh, then George the fifth, then the sixth, then finally Elizabeth the second and then Prince Charles, who had married a Diana Spencer. They had three children, the oldest of them: a Hadrian George Philip Windsor.

"…which means," the assistant secretary was saying, "that you are the second in line of succession to the British throne, sir."


	2. Chapter 2

**So my semester is coming to an end, and as a result exams are starting soon. And in typical 'me' fashion, this is when I start to productively write fanfiction. Procrastinating? Nahhhhhh.**

 **In any case, I would like to point out that I have almost no knowledge of the Royal Family and of the proper protocol. Everything is researched. I am neither British nor American - the Royals don't really appear in our news much. So please forgive me for my mistakes!**

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 _"…which means," the assistant secretary was saying, "that you are the second in line of succession to the British throne, sir."_

Harry gaped at Charteris, face completely still as he attempted to process the information he had just been given. From the kitchen, he heard a small yelp and Harry knew that Petunia and Vernon had been listening in. He wondered what they were thinking — Merlin, he didn't know what _he_ was thinking!

Charteris had bowed his head and was looking up at him through his eyelashes, evidently waiting for a reaction. Harry leaned back into the pristine pink sofa and closed his eyes. He felt a headache coming on and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Your Royal Highness, this—"

Harry waved his unoccupied hand, interrupting the Assistant Private Secretary. "Don't call me that please." The silence that followed was somewhat tense and Harry got the feeling that this man was a stickler for protocol.

"That would not be appropriate, sir."

Jumping to his feet in a small fit of hysteria, Harry grimaced at the man. "Tea, Mr. Charteris?"

"Allow me—" Charteris rushed to say, having jumped to his feet the moment Harry had moved.

"I've been making my own tea for almost seventeen years, I can make one more. Please, sit."

The Assistant Private Secretary gingerly lowered himself back into the armchair, evidently feeling very uncomfortable in doing so. Harry's breath was shuddering and he could feel his fingers trembling as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

Petunia and Vernon were standing at the stove, whispering in low tones. Harry reckoned that that was the first time he'd ever seen his uncle standing in said kitchen. The moment Petunia spotted Harry over his shoulder, her eyes widened and almost began to bulge. Vernon spun around. They, much like Harry didn't seem to know exactly how to react. Petunia's long neck bent in an unwilling way into a parody of a bow and Vernon attempted the same.

He seemed to be in conflict with himself. Harry knew he was a staunch monarchist — the portrait of Queen Elizabeth hanging in the living room was proof enough. And that woman had just been revealed to be his grandmother.

He avoided their stares and set about making the tea. They didn't exchange a word while the water boiled which made for a long awkward silence in which they all took turns in staring at each other. Finally pouring the tea into two separate china cups, Harry looked around the cupboards until he found Vernon's gin. He poured a generous amount into his own tea.

Once he was seated in the living room and Charteris had placed his tea un-sipped upon the tabletop, Harry reinitiated their conversation.

"Ok, so how did you find me?"

"The disappearance was widely reported in the media but within a year they had forgotten about it. Every year, on the anniversary of the disappearance a short article appeared in the papers. It was very quickly assumed that Your Royal Highness was… dead, sir."

"But?"

"The Queen insisted on further investigations. Your Royal Highness' mother, the then Princess of Wales was distraught when death _in absentia_ was declared, and officially, nothing could be done. The search continued and new investigators were contracted who eventually began cross-referencing orphans' and Your Royal Highness' characteristics, sir."

"Isn't your evidence a little circumstantial?" Harry said a little meekly, and wishing very dearly that so much hope hadn't seeped into his voice.

"Your Royal Highness, nothing about this is circumstantial: your fingerprints match those of the Duke of Wales' son. Your Royal Highness' appearance, the timing of the adoption — everything matches up perfectly. Of course, a DNA test will be done, but that will be a purely formal confirmation."

"So what now?" Harry downed the rest of his 'tea'. Charteris looked relieved for the first time in their entire conversation. "I can't really fulfil this whole 'second in line to the throne' thing, I'm in the middle of a crisis."

"Crisis, sir?" Charteris asked, a frown marring his face. Harry wondered if the man knew about the wizarding world and whether the rest of the royal family were also 'in the know', so to speak.

"Doesn't matter," Harry said whilst waving his hand. "And stop calling me that."

"I'm afraid it's protocol…" there was a long pause. "…Sir."

"Who knows so far — about me being alive?" Harry stood up nervously and began pacing.

"The Queens private secretary, myself, a private investigator, our solicitors _Farrer & Co_., evidently your… adoptive aunt and uncle, and the driver standing outside, sir. The Queen and the HRH Duke of Edinburgh are in Balmoral, as are HRH the Prince of Wales and Your Royal Highness' brothers… they have not yet been informed of the situation. Your Royal Highness' existence came to light earlier this morning. There is no precedent for a situation such as this, therefore I was sent here to confirm. Sir."

"Right. Is there a way you could withhold all of this for a while?" Harry gestured at himself, feeling suddenly a little hysterical. It wasn't every day one was told one was a prince.

"I'm afraid not, sir. The media has become very adept at figuring out the smoothest cover-ups. We must act now; a statement must be released by the end of the week, sir."

"And there is no way around this?" Harry asked running a hand over his tired face. Charteris was shaking his head when Harry turned to look at him. He'd have to somehow find a way around this later on. Voldemort, after all, wasn't going to stop hunting him down, even _if_ he was a prince. And with high exposure… well the entire royal family and everyone surrounding it would be under extreme threat. And if the war spilled over to them, the war would spill over to the muggle world, and that would be disastrous on every single level.

"Arrangements are being made to transport Your Royal Highness to Balmoral, to be introduced to the Queen and HRH the Duke of Wales."

Harry sighed and glanced down at his palms in contemplation.

"Where is this Balmoral?" he asked after a moment. Charteris, finally sipped some of his now cold tea.

"Scotland, sir."

Well, Harry thought, at least he hadn't unpacked yet.

.

"Hey is it just me, or is that Charteris, y'know the Assistant Private Secretary?" Janine Watson, Royal Corespondent, said, pointing her finger at the computer screen, depicting said man — or at least one of his likeness. The dark haired and moustached man was exiting a nondescript car on a very ordinary looking street. Now what would a man such as that be doing on a street like that?

"Hm, could be him," Paul Dacre, the editor of the Daily Mail, said, squinting a little and adjusting his glasses. "What is he doing on — what street was that again?"

"My source said he was hanging around Little Whinging, apparently waiting for someone."

"Little Whinging?" Dacre said, pushing a few papers aside and sitting on the corner of the desk. Janine pursed her lips as she zoomed in on the picture. It really _did_ look like Charteris. Not many men could pull off such an impressive moustache.

"Yeah, a small town in Surrey."

"So what the bloody hell would he be doing there? Isn't the Queen in Balmoral?"

"That's what I've been wondering for the past hour."

"What? Instead of working?" Her editor said with a smirk. Janine rolled her eyes. She jutted her chin towards the computer screen. She clicked on the second picture that her source had sent her: it depicted Charteris strolling down the street, evidently looking at house numbers and attempting to find the correct one.

"It's not really news: not much to go on," Janine said slowly, but a small smile crept onto her face when she saw Dacre's smug expression.

"Then _make_ it news," the editor in chief said.

.

For the second time that day, Harry was watching the countryside rush by, albeit this time from the air. And this time, the journey was considerably louder. The helicopter that Charteris had hired was as small and private as possible — everything to keep the media out of things. Personally Harry thought it was probably safer and easier for him to take a bus up to Scotland, but he supposed there was some sort of protocol against that.

There were only four seats in said helicopter: Harry and Charteris sat diagonally across from each other and the latter kept shooting him considering stares only to look away the moment the wizard's eyes flickered over at him.

Laid out before Harry were a little stack of documents on protocol. Amongst them was a dossier with faces that he recognised from the news and from various posters he'd seen during his muggle school days. He recognised the Queen of course, and her husband (whose gaffs were always gleefully captured by the media) and prince Charles. It was the picture of princess Diana that brought him to a stop and he stared at it for a good long while.

He'd lived his entire life believing that his parents had died on Halloween when he was barely a year old. He'd lived under the assumption that they had been his real parents, and he'd often use a vague memory of them as comfort during his early years at the Dursleys. Now it turned out that they had just been a couple eager to have a child — which begged the question: how in the hell had he been stolen from his biological family?

It came as a stark shock to him to be able to say, or rather, think the word family. For so long, he had been deprived of using that word and he had yearned for it for so long that now it even felt a tad anticlimactic. He'd been an orphan for so many years that now, to, within several hours, gain an international family came not only as a jarring feeling but also as a panic-inducing one.

"Beginning descent in ten minutes, sir," the pilot said in an almost robotic voice. It occurred to Harry that in a few moments he would be meeting the Queen, not as a monarch, but as his biological grandmother.

"Your Royal Highness," Charteris said with a cough. "Upon meeting the Queen, Your Royal Highness must bow, address Her Majesty—"

Harry toned him out, feeling a slight sense of hysteria rise within him as he saw the green fields of Scotland appear through the fog. He wasn't prepared for this; he had to be hunting Voldemort. Merlin, he'd take a hoard of dementors over this whole thing.

The helicopter began descending in earnest now and soon they were touching down. Charteris was first to exit the helicopter when the engines had shut down. Looking very nervous himself, the man held open the door for Harry. The wizard stumbled out of the contraption, ears still ringing from the sound. Previously hidden by fog and clouds, a castle now emerged.

To Harry it looked much like Hogwarts, and only lacked in size and gothicisim. Instead, it radiated a sense of calmness and peace. The grounds had evidently been freshly mowed just recently and the scent of freshly cut grass still hung in the air. To the side, gardeners were employing large shears to trim the bushes into perfect circles.

"Your Highness?" Charteris said to get his attention: he had extended his hand in the direction of a small back door. Taking a deep breath, Harry followed the man. Behind him, the pilot was instructing a servant to take up his trunk to a specific room. Harry dearly hoped this did not mean that someone was going to unpack his things: certain items would not do well in a muggle's hands.

The back porch was littered with house-shoes and a few children's boots. A coat or two hung on a coat rack, joined by tartan scarf. Evidently this was a corridor, an entrance, that no one from the public ever saw. It occurred to Harry that the reason they had entered though this side door was because the media was most probably camping out at the outside gate, attempting to get a view of the Royal Family.

They finally entered a sitting room, that all things considered, looked quite ordinary. The portraits of Kings and Queens of ages past aside, it looked like quite a regular Hogwarts common room. As it was summer, the fireplace wasn't roaring and the curtains hadn't been drawn to conserve heat. Instead rays of light beamed through the beautiful dormer french windows, lighting the entire room in honey-coloured afternoon light. Harry's view into the back garden was beautiful and he felt almost instantly at peace.

"The sitting room, sir," Charteris explained. "The Queen and her party have been informed of the situation. They are being driven back as we speak."

"Right. Thanks Charteris." Harry awkwardly sat down in one of tartan armchairs.

"Sir." Charteris departed after that. The single sound in the room after that was the ticking sound of the grandfather clock standing under a mantlepiece and Harry's own nervous breathing. He could feel his heart thumping in his throat.

Harry was gazing out the window when a very familiar and welcoming sight greeted him. He instantly jumped to his feet.

"Hedwig!"

The snowy white owl was hovering in front of the central window, looking rather happy that she had found her friend. Harry instantly rushed to the window and after fiddling with it for a moment, threw it open and let the owl in. Almost instantly, Hedwig attached herself onto his arm and nuzzled her head against his neck. Harry laughed quietly and gently stroked the soft hairs on her head.

"Sorry, girl. Must've been quite a flight, Scotland to London and back to Scotland?" Hedwig nipped his ear in admonition.

"An owl!" cried a young voice. Harry spun (almost throwing Hedwig off of his arm in the process).

Standing there was a young boy, about 12 or 13. His eyes were bright and mischievous and clashed so wonderfully with his bright red hair that Harry almost believed him to be a distant relative of the Weasley. Harry could already almost see him getting along with Fred and George Weasley like a house on fire.

"Her name's Hedwig," Harry said with a smile "You can pet her if you want." The boy approached her eagerly. Hedwig trilled cheerfully and in pleasure as the boy gently — much gentler than one might expect a mischievous boy like that to treat an animal — stroked her soft and groomed feathers.

"I love her," he breathed excitedly.

"Harry!" called voice from the corridor. Seconds later, a middle aged man that Harry recognised very well indeed: his ears stuck out a little and his hair line was receding. The eyes were small and deep-set and the nose was large and slightly hooked. It occurred to Harry that the man was looking at at the boy standing at his side, and not _him_. Harry almost face-palmed himself at his own stupidity — the boy at his side _was_ Prince Harry!

And the man now very slowly approaching them was Prince Charles of Wales.

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 **It was pointed out to me that it might be confusing to call both Harrys Harry, so that might change in the future. Our Harry will stay Harry, but the other prince Harry might change to Henry or something of that sort. His official name IS technically Henry.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! Who would have thought that me procrastinating would make me so productive? In truth, my wifi crashed last night so I read for a few hours and then all I had left to do was study or write, so guess which one I did.**

 **I am writing the Queen and all members of the Royal family as I imagine they would speak.**

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"Hadrian," Charles breathed out. Harry lowered his arm in the manner one would when caught doing something naughty by a teacher. Hedwig fluttered over to the nearest high-backed armchair and perched herself upon it. The young prince Harry, not realising how monumental this meeting was, immediately followed her and continued cooing at her.

"Your Highness," Harry said slowly, brain racing to remember what Charteris had told him about protocol: these people took it very seriously indeed. He dropped his head into a small bow.

Charles, somewhat stiffly stepped forward and placed a stiff arm on Harry's shoulder. Harry noted that he was trembling.

"Oh none of that!" In the next instant two arms had been thrown over his neck and Charles was hugging him. After a few moments, Harry slowly put an arm on the other man's shoulder and exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"You've come home, my boy. Home," Charles said quietly into his shoulder. When they separated Harry noted that little prince Harry was staring at them with shock. The little boy now had Hedwig on his arm and they were both staring at father and son with their heads cocked to the side at the exact same angle.

It made for a very curious image and both Charles and Harry let out an identical gasping laugh.

"Harry, allow me to present to you, your _brother_ Hadrian," Charles said with exuberant flair, much more than was actually needed. The little prince Harry stared at them stupefied for a moment, evidently not expecting that. Harry offered him a small smile.

"I go by Harry, too, actually," he said. The red-head continued to stare at him.

"You're taking all of this remarkably well, Hadrian," Charles said softly. Harry gave him a one-sided shrug. "I understand that you were collected on your way home from school? Must've been a shock to leave classes yesterday and be plunged into all of this," he waved around his arms, gesturing at the room and probably the entire institution, "so suddenly."

Inwardly, Harry felt like screaming. However, he smiled pleasantly and went down to one knee to match the prince's eye-level. Hedwig, still perched on the red-heads arm, trilled, demanding more petting.

"What a beautiful creature!" Charles exclaimed, finally noticing the avian animal.

"Her name's Hedwig," Harry said to the child. He nodded, enraptured. "Do you want to hold onto her for the time being? She's been clamouring for attention and I haven't had much time to take care of her." Harry leaned in closer to the boy and whispered: "I think she even likes you more than me!"

Prince Harry laughed giddily and nodded. "I really do love her!" He hesitated for a moment. "And welcome back, Hadrian."

"Now, now, now, what is this nonsense I keep hearing about—" The three Windsors spun the moment they heard that familiar voice, albeit to Harry, it was only familiar from the news, having heard many, many compilations of inconvenient gaffs courtesy of said man in the media.

The towering figure of prince Philip had entered the room, only to come to a very sudden stop, merely a few steps away from the little group huddled around Hedwig. And standing directly behind him, having just bumped into her husband, was Elizabeth II, Queen of Britain, and Harry's… grandmother.

"Ah," was the single sound that escaped her mouth when her eyes alighted upon Harry. He almost visibly shrank under her penetrable gaze. He swallowed heavily. Next to her, Philip was still stuck in a state of shock, his mouth was propped open slightly and he was staring at Harry in the fashion in which one might stare at a strange mutation of a creature in a zoo.

"Mummy," Charles began surprisingly very informally. "It appears that Charteris' team has finally managed to find _our_ Hadrian." Charles placed a hand on Harry's shoulder to emphasise the 'our' bit. He, however, felt very much on the outside of things. For the first time this day, Harry cursed the person who had stolen him away from his biological family — he had been denied the warmth of a mother and father, and two brothers.

"May I speak to Hadrian alone?"

It sounded more like a command, and in an instant, Philip and Charles cleared the room. The little prince Harry stared at them for a moment longer, his natural rebellious streak making itself known. However, he was quickly ushered out courtesy of a stern stare from his grandmother.

"Shall we go for a walk?" The Queen said pleasantly. Without waiting for an answer, she exited the room, and exited the castle through the same door Harry had just entered. They wandered out into the garden.

"The gardens provide quite a bit of secrecy; I am afraid with so many servants around, we are living in a fishbowl most of the time," Elizabeth began. She turned her considering, piercing eyes on Hadrian. The young man looked nervous, to say the least.

Then again, she supposed that going from a very normal civilian to second in line to the throne was probably quite jarring. Whereas she had already been a princess when her uncle had abdicated and handed the mantle to her father, this boy had been raised as a completely normal young man.

"I understand you were raised by your aunt and uncle?" she asked, adjusting her thick glasses to peer at him. He looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny and in an instant he reminded her of her own father; they shared that same award skittishness.

"Yes, ma'am. My parents — my adoptive parents — died when I was a year old, so I was sent to live with my adoptive mother's relatives."

Elizabeth hummed. "We are so very glad to have you back, I hope you understand that."

"I do, ma'am… I've never had a proper family before," Hadrian said with a small smile. He looked quite vulnerable in that moment, and his gaze darkened considerably.

"Your aunt and uncle, they weren't a proper family to you?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. The boy hastened to rectify his comment, but she knew a bullied soul when she saw one — her father had been the exact same around his brother.

In all his shyness, there was something proud and valiant about Hadrian. He stood tall, with his shoulders back and a directness in his gaze that could only come from a good and moral character. His eyebrows were thick and drawn into a straight, serious line. And yet, there was kindness and warmth in his brilliant green eyes.

In an instant, Elizabeth saw the perfect rough diamond of a king standing before her. Having passed her evaluation, she smiled somewhat more warmly at him and they continued walking. A corgi or two joined them, yapping at their feet and chasing after cats every now and then.

"That beautiful creature inside? A snowy owl I believe?"

"Oh yes," Hadrian said excitedly, eyes lighting up. It appeared he had inherited his love of animals from her. "She's called Hedwig, she was a present for my eleventh birthday." As though magically summoned, there came a cry of 'HEDWIG' from the castle and a few seconds later, a window opened and the owl soared out, closely followed by the rowdy Harry, who clumsily climbed out the window.

Hadrian laughed at the image, eyes twinkling merrily as his bird alighted on his shoulder.

"May I?" Elizabeth asked, extending a gloved finger. Hadrian looked at his bird as though to ask permission — what an odd thing to do, thought she — and surprisingly Hedwig chirped something that sounded rather positive.

"Extraordinary," she said, stroking the fluffy bits under the owl's beak. How had Hadrian trained her this well?

"She's excellent at finding people too," Hadrian said suddenly, for the first time offering information without being prompted to do so. The owl flew off the moment her admirer (in the form of little Harry) caught up. He panted near them for a moment or two, and then gave in to chase again.

"How so?" Elizabeth asked, genuinely intrigued. Hadrian shrugged.

"She knows the way to my friends' houses, and has flown over to collect my birthday presents from them before," he laughed as though remembering a particularly nice memory. Elizabeth felt very out of her depth, something she had not felt in quite some time. Owls delivering presents? She felt as though she was missing something — she knew only of one group of people in Britain that used owls to deliver messages, but surely… Harry wasn't…

"Hadrian, have you ever heard of an institution called _Hogwarts_?" At that word, his whole body violently spun around — he had been admiring the Singapore tree that they had just passed.

"Hogwarts?" He said, voice suddenly a pitch higher. She smiled indulgently.

"Wizards have never been quite so good at hiding their nature," she said with a small, but smug smile. Hadrian actually looked relieved, and he seemed to deflate. Some tension seemed to melt away from his shoulders.

"Merlin, I wasn't sure if the Royal Family was, well, erm, magical. Our textbooks are so vague!" Hadrian rushed a hand through his hair, a characteristic that Elizabeth saw every day in Philip.

"For the most part, we are not," Elizabeth confessed. "A muggle will only be told if she or he is the reigning monarch, or evidently a wizard or witch themselves."

"So Charles and Harry don't know?" Hadrian looked a little pained to have to hold information like that back.

"I am afraid not. Philip, being a squib, does."

"This is so bizarre," Hadrian murmured to himself whilst rushing a hand through his face. Then all of a sudden, his body tensed and he came to a very sudden stop. Elizabeth turned and examined him curiously.

"Do you know of… Voldemort?" He said slowly. Elizabeth drew her eyebrows into a tight frown. Yes, she had been told who he was, and what he had done. The wizarding folk were after all, her subjects as well. She received a red box of information every day about that side of things, much like the one from the muggle world. Instead of a weekly visit from the Prime Minister, however, she only ever saw a representative once a month. He had been vacant the past year and no matter of inquiries, she never seemed to get through to the wizarding world.

"Yes, I do know of him."

"Well then I suppose you know how he disappeared in 1981," Hadrian said tensely. In an instant, Elizabeth put two and two together. Harry Potter — of course! She had been thinking of him in terms of Hadrian and had never made the connection. Their Hadrian was the infamous Harry Potter?! Of all the coincidences in the world.

Seeing her eyes widen and understanding that she had made the connection, the young man continued: "And in 1994, he returned, having taken my blood so as to resurrect himself."

A gasp escaped her lips. Hadrian's serious eyes fixed with hers and all of a sudden he looked like a war-ridden general, not the noble figure he had been just a few seconds ago.

"For a year now, he has lived in the open, terrorising, murdering and slaughtering. Very recently he sent one of his agents to kill Hogwarts' Headmaster. The one hope for the opposition." Hadrian was beginning to look uncomfortable now. "There is a prophecy… binding my destiny to his."

Horror dawned on Elizabeth. She had so suddenly gained a grandson, the true heir to the throne, and it seemed all of that could be ripped away so quickly. "Upon his death, he marked me as his equal," Hadrian brushed his hair to the side, revealing a jagged scar. "I have to face him in battle and strike him down: because if not, I will die. We cannot exist alongside the other."

Elizabeth closed her eyes in horror. Her mind was racing and she very suddenly understood his extreme unwillingness to be part of the whole charade that came along with being a member of the Royal family. Exposing him to the world, the muggle world, meant exposing the entire family, the entire institution to Voldemort and his army and would mean, by default, that the wizarding would would be revealed to the muggles.

.

The Burrow was alight with voices shouting one over the other. The silence that had pervaded just hours before, in order to properly mourn Dumbledore's death, had been abandoned. Instead, the entire Order of the Phoenix was huddled up in the ground floor of the Burrow, shouting over each other, trying to place the blame on the next person for not taking enough care of Harry.

"—if only Nymphadora hadn't been so clumsy—"

"—Don't call me that—" Came the dangerous reply, along with a flash of angry, magenta hair.

"—The Wards obviously didn't hold—"

"—The magic is dead! Oh God, what are we going to do—"

"—I knew he shouldn't have gone to the muggles, they probably were the ones who gave him up—"

"SILENCE!" Kingsley evidently didn't need a _sonorous_ charm, because in the next instant, all conversation stopped. Everyone turned, in mid-argument to stare at the formidable Auror. He was staring at them with a dangerous, deranged glint in his eye and the wand he was holding was spluttering sparks. Those nearest to him, took a step back.

"Sit down, everyone." He stared them all down so intensely that everyone sat down, and those who didn't have a chair conjured one. "Now, let's get on with this problem in a civilised manner. Not like beasts, agreed?" There were a few nods all around.

"Good. Now Tonks, tell me exactly what happened. Calmly."

"A gentleman had been walking around Privet Drive all day, but I thought nothing of it. He looked muggle. I'm really sure he wasn't a wizard. Then Harry arrived, and the moment he was in the wards, he was safe, so I began canvasing the area. When I returned, the man's car, along with Harry were gone!" Tonks' voice had steadily risen in pitch as she spoke and was almost in hysterics by the end.

"Oh Harry, how could he be so foolish," Hermione murmured to herself. This seemed to bring the adults to the attention that Ginny, Hermione and Ron were all sitting at the table, listening in, into the Order meeting.

"UP. All of you! No discussion!" Mrs. Weasley said sternly.

"But mu-um, I'm of age now!" Ron retorted angrily.

"You have not graduated yet!"

"Fred and George haven't either!" Ginny shot back.

"No. Discussion." Mrs. Weasley fiercely stared them all down and eventually they all caved. She however, didn't know about the extendable ears, if she had, she would have realised they had given in too quickly.

Once the 'children' had stumbled off, the adults resumed the conversation. Lupin, who had been in the middle of an underground werewolf operation, looked worse than ever: his shaggy hair was greasy, his skin lacking nutrients and his eyes dark and sunken, and when he spoke, his voice was somewhat raspy.

"Forgive me for being crass, but if Harry's death hasn't yet been paraded everywhere, then… he must be still alive."

"You-Know-Who," began Arthur Weasley, looking worse for wear himself. "Must not have him, then!"

"You say the man was a muggle," Kingsley intoned, his deep voice easily reaching the younger Weasleys and Hermione hanging from the balustrade.

"Yeah, I think," Tonks bit her lip nervously, looking down at the table with guilt. Lupin put a comforting hand on her forearm in support.

"Not your fault," he whispered to her (Hermione and Ginny _'aww-ed'_ at that).

"The Auror Department is completely compromised," Elphias Doge said wheezily. His eyes were red and puffy and it was evident he had been mourning his very good friend Albus Dumbledore. "They won't help us. If anything, they'll be helping He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

The Order nodded grimly.

"Hestia, Alastor, you two have contacts in the muggle world?" Kingsley had naturally assumed the position as head of the Order, having always been Dumbledore's lieutenant.

Hestia Jones and Moody exchanged an uneasy glance, but finally nodded. "We'll begin investigating immediately."

"I'll ask the Goblins, but I doubt they'll be forthcoming," Bill offered. His soon-to-be-wife, Fleur, took his hand to offer some comfort.

"Excellent. Tonks, Minerva, Remus, why don't you attempt to identify the man you saw?"

A grim silence overcame them, covering the kitchen of the Burrow in a dark mantle of unsavoury thoughts. During war, it was hard to stay optimistic, and though no one wanted to admit it, everyone wasn't feeling too positive about finding Harry. It was with these thoughts in mind, that the not-so merry band disbanded, each man and woman leaving with a heavy hearty and a dark mind.

* * *

 **Harry is a generally very awkward person, as is Queen Elizabeth, if reports of her at to believed. As Harry evolves and becomes closer with the Family, he shall become somewhat more easy-going.**

 **For Philip to be a squib, his parents would have had to be pureblood. Prince Philip has more Northern European and Prussian/German blood than anything else and considering Germany's relatively recent history with blood purity issues, I decided to combine that with the wizarding world and make his royal parents (both of whom were staunch Nazis), both pureblood supremacists. It is well recorded that Philips father despised him, or at best tolerated him, so I think it fits well that in my story, he is a squib.**

 **Now, if we take this into consideration, the majority of the Prussian, Austrian, and Russian Royal families (who intermingled the most), would have to be wizarding. I think the last really really German person in the British Royal family (excluding Philip of course), would have to be Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's husband. Therefore, at least one of their children would have been magical.**

 **Little Prince Harry and Willian evidently are not: at this point Harry is 12 and William is 14. The latter is already attending Eton.**

 **I was asked about Princess Diana: she is alive, make no mistake. She died in August of 1997 and our story begins in July of 1997, so she still has about a month left to live. She will eventually enter our story. The reason she hasn't entered the story yet is because she got a divorce about a year before her death. She was stripped of her titles, and allowed to see her children only intermittently. In July of 1997 she and Hasnat Khan ended their two year relationship and she** **initiated a new one with Dodi Fayed. About a month and a half later she, along with Dodi, and two further people died in a car crash in Paris.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm kind of basing the characters of the story on the various TV/film interpretations I've seen of them: mostly the Queen, the Crown, the King's Speech, Diana (Naomi Watts - excellent film!), and various other documentaries. The rest is my interpretation.**

 **It surprises me that the last time I updated this was in January... .whaaat? In any case, I just finished my exams and have a few weeks of summer ahead of me, hence I'm spending my time inside, writing, and away from the heatwave. Hope y'all missed this story :)**

* * *

Harry woke slowly. It took him a moment or two to realise where he was, and although he felt almost too cliche in thinking of it, he couldn't help but noting that everything that had happened the day before didn't feel at all real. Perhaps that was also the whiskey that Philip had pulled out at some point, that was affecting his judgement. He remembered the Queen hadn't been too happy about that.

An imprint of Dumbledore's frozen face prominently projected itself to the forefront of his mind. Gritting his teeth, Harry swung his feet out from under the duvet. He had to concentrate on the good: he had gained an entire family in the space of a few hours. A family that stretched out over all of Europe. And as exciting as everything happening to him was, there was still the matter of Voldemort that had to be resolved: the Horcruxes were still out there, and there wasn't much of a possibility Harry would be able to slip away from the tight control he was under now.

Throwing himself back onto the bed, Harry exhaled deeply. Before he could even close his eyes once more, there came a knock on the door. A few moments later a young man entered the room: his pale face and white-blond hair could've passed for Malfoy-like. In precise movements, he crossed the room only to come to an abrupt stop directly at the side of the bed. Harry sat up, realising he had something to say.

"Good morning Your Highness, my name is Brian McGrath and have been assigned to you as your personal equerry, sir," the man said in a sure, crisp, and precise voice. Harry rubbed at his eyes for a moment. God, it seemed this whole protocol thing was only going to get worse!

"I don't need a servant," Harry said, stood up and rushed towards the bathroom, feeling slightly annoyed. There was a limit as to how many people could serve one single person.

Once he reemerged, he found that his bed had been made, the curtains had been tied up, and a selection of clothes had been laid out on a small pouffe. Groaning, Harry brushed back his damp hair and set about dressing. His trunk had been brought up to his room and he spent a few minutes rooting through it trying to find some ink and paper. When he finally had, he wrote Hermione and Ron a letter stating that he was okay and that he'd explain later. He wondered when that 'later' would be.

A few minutes later, Hedwig was off and Harry similarly steeled himself and exited the calmness of his room.

The corridor was already milling with dozens of people, each going about their business. Apparently the situation had been explained to them, because he received half a dozen smiles and a bow with a 'Your Highness'. He scowled a little, annoyed by the formality.

"Sir, the breakfast hall is that way." Brian had appeared out of nowhere. Harry was led through several beautiful sitting rooms, which in his opinions were supposed to be displayed in museums, until he was finally brought to a mesmerising private dining room.

A long mahogany table took up most of the space: it reminded Harry much of the four House tables in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. And sitting at the head was Prince Charles, evidently having a tense conversation with Philip. The latter looked just as grumpy as Harry at being forced to wake so early. The conversation between father and son ceased the moment the wizard had entered the room.

"Ah, good morning Hadrian. Sleep well?" Charles said conversationally. Harry remarked that if there was a thing the British excelled at, it was small-talk.

"Yes very well, thank you." He sat down right across his father. An equerry instantly appeared to serve him tea and fresh toast. Harry thanked him and instantly received odd looks not only from Philip and Charles, but also from the man serving him!

"Pray tell, _Harry_ ," Philip began, evidently having noted that Harry preferred the shortened version of his name. "You must be finishing school?"

"Yes sir, this year will be my last." Harry supposed this was a bad time to tell his squib grandfather that he was actually going to run away, quit school and begin hunting down a Dark Lord.

"Good lad, at 17?" Charles remarked, impressed. "What school did you attend?"

They all noticed the past tense and it wasn't lost on anyone that Harry was probably going to be moved from whatever school he was at now, to a posher, more prince-like.

"Erm, it's not far from here actually, also in Scotland."

"Gordonstoun?" Philip said excitedly. Charles' gaze darkened at the name.

"Gordonstoun? No, I'm sorry I don't know the name." Philip visibly deflated and relief seemed to flood Charles. Harry assumed that that was the school that both father and son had attended. "I attend Hogwarts."

"What a peculiar name," Charles remarked before going back to spooning out his hard-boiled egg. He failed to see the sharp look that Philip instantly directed at Harry. His head tilted to the side: his eyes widened marginally and a flash of recognition shot through his expression.

"Odd school too; I bet," Philip said nonchalantly. Harry was saved from having to jump to the next topic of conversation when two loud voices sounded in the hallways. The voices of two bickering boys: William and little prince Harry.

They only came to a frozen stop mere metres away from their places at the table. William had only arrived early this morning from a friend's home and had evidently just been informed of the situation. He was staring at Harry with a mixture of frustration, interest, and confusion.

"Hey, my name's Harry after Hadrian," Harry said with a smile, offering his hand. But instead of his hand being taken, Harry received a strong hug. He staggered back in surprise, not being one for affectionate gestures. Awkwardly, he gave William's shoulder a few pats and realised only then that the poor boy was shaking. He was only two years older than the boy he held in his arms, but he suddenly felt extremely protective over him, as though he was a first year Gryffindor.

"You ok?"

"I'm not gonna be king," William said with the brightest smile and the most relieved expression Harry had ever seen. Well that was certainly a different reaction to the one that he had been thinking he would get. It also raised a concept that Harry hadn't considered yet: he was going to be the King of the United Kingdom at some point.

"Uh, I'm sorry?" Harry straightened and pulled at the collar of his shirt, unused to wearing fitting clothes (that weren't part of his uniform) in his free-time.

"Good morning dad, grandad," the younger Harry kissed both their cheeks and sat down at his place at the table. William did the same, albeit with a wide smile.

"Have you been hunting before, Harry?" Philip asked as he buttered his toast. Harry washed down some toast with his searing hot tea and raised his eyes to meet the Queen's consort.

"No, sir."

"Excellent, I'll show you how. This afternoon?" Philip said matter-of-factly. Harry blinked at him. _Hunting_?

Charles seemed to disapprove: "You could wait a few weeks until he settles down before doing _that_."

"Deerstalking then — that's entirely different."

"I don't mind," Harry found himself saying, simply to diffuse the oncoming argument. Even with his foggy understanding of the emotional side of people, he could sense some sort of unresolved tension between these two men.

"The boy doesn't mind," Philip said, taking a bite from his toast, as though that were the proverbial full-stop in their conversation. Charles harrumphed.

"Sir," an equerry appeared at Philip's side, carrying a silver tray on which lay a selection of newspapers.

The elderly prince picked up the Guardian and Charles the Daily Telegraph. Harry supposed that that summed up their political leanings pretty well.

"Oh fuck," Philip cursed. Harry's two younger brothers' heads shot up, at hearing the word.

"Father! Not in front of the boys!" Charles exclaimed, then raised his paper to eye-level and his mouth propped open in shock.

"Bollocks," Charles muttered, eyes instantly flicking over at Harry. Splashed all over the front page of the Guardian and the Daily Telegraph was a picture of Harry showing the smaller prince Harry how to pet Hedwig whilst the Queen looked on with a gentle smile. And above that, the title: _The Once and Future King._

Harry's lips formed a small 'o' while William and young Harry attempted to take a glance at the papers.

"The bloody paparazzi," Charles continued. He rubbed his face for a moment. "So do you want to tell _mummy_ or should I?" he addressed Philip, evidently talking about the Queen.

"Has mother been told?" William piped up, voice cracking as he spoke. Harry suppressed a smile.

Charles and Philip exchanged another 'oh fuck' glance.

.

"HEDWIG'S HERE!" Ron hollered at ten in the morning, having been woken up the rowdy gnomes in the back garden. He had been making himself a small breakfast in the kitchen when Hedwig swooped in through the open window, a letter attached to her leg.

Instantly, the house became alive with loud footsteps and shouts as each person passed on the information. The Order of the Phoenix had convened here the night before and the meeting had gone on for such a long time, that most of the members had slept over. Hermione, however, was the first to appear at the foot of the stairs.

"Merlin, he's alive!" She looked extremely relieved. Ron quickly passed the letter to her and the moment several people had gathered in the kitchen she read it aloud:

" _Dear Ron, Hermione, don't worry about me. It's a long story and it would just take too long to explain it all. I promise I'll explain everything soon. I am safe and I'm taken care of. Please tell Kingsley and Mad-Eye that it's not their fault they lost me and that I am_ safe _. Say hi to your mother! Love, Harry._ " Hermione harrumphed. "This is so Harry."

Instantly an uproar of voices erupted, each one shouting over the other.

"SHADDUP!" Mad-eye Moody had arrived: dramatic slamming of the door and all. In an second, all arguments ceased in an almost comical way. One or two people had literally stopped mid-sentence and were staring on, mouth open.

"Close your mouth, Podmore," Moody growled. The disgraced auror Sturgis Podmore shut his jaw with an audible snap. The Weasley twins exchanged a smirk at that and began trying to replicate the sound until Moody shot them a glare.

"What in Merlin's name is going on," Lupin exclaimed, joining the party just now and seeing that most of the Order was now standing in the kitchen of the Weasley home. He looked tired, Hermione noted.

"We got a letter from Harry," she said. Lupin instantly rushed to her side, eyes skimming over the text quickly.

"That doesn't mean anything," Lupin said narrowing his eyes. "How do we know he even wrote this and not his captors?"

"Hedwig's here," Ron pointed out. Hedwig was indeed perched on the handle of a frying pan, picking at the bacon. She looked like a deer caught in headlights when everyone turned to look at her.

"And she's obviously waiting for an answer," Hermione continued.

"No, I think she's just eating my bacon," Ron replied, blinking rapidly.

There was a sudden rapping on the door and Mrs. Weasley hobbled over. Some had pulled out their wands upon hearing the sound, but she looked through the peephole and quickly announced that it was Tonks. A smile broke out on Remus' face.

She rushed in, not even bothering to answer Moody's security questions; her colour-changing hair was proof enough of who she was. They had little time to mull over he abrupt entrance because she instantly raised a newspaper up to their faces. The Order huddled up in a semi-circle as they all stared at the muggle paper.

" _The once and future king_!" Ron read aloud.

" _Might this be the greatest Houdini Act of the decade, nay, the century? Fourteen years ago, we were fed the information that the rightful heir to the throne, Prince Hadrian had died after a premature birth. New information has come to light that not only is he alive and well, but that the Royal Family shelters him. Sources reveal that he was raised in Surrey; it is yet unknown with whom, by what proxy-"_

"-That _can't_ be Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, racing over and ripping the paper from Ron's hands. Her eyes skimmed over the rest of the text. She threw the paper onto the breakfast table and everyone huddled up around it to look at the photograph.

It was somewhat blurry, but it was fairly easy to tell that standing there were the Queen next to the younger Prince Harry and _their_ Harry who had snowy-white owl on his arm.

"That's definitely Hedwig," Lupin remarked.

"I'd recognise _him_ anywhere," Hermione said, she was shaking, and her voice didn't sound particularly steady either.

"Harry's a bloody prince now?" Ron said, voice having risen a slight pitch. He was staring unwaveringly at the paper.

"At least he isn't under Voldemort's prisoner," Mr. Weasley said after a moment, he put an arm around his son's shoulder reassuringly, fully knowledgable in his son's jealous nature.

"We're getting the lad back," Moody said, He was leaning on his staff and considering them all with a frowning expression, although it was hard to tell with him because that was the expression that had seemingly been etched into his face.

"How are we going to do that?" Ron exclaimed loudly. He waved a hand in front of him frantically, throwing off his father's arm. "In case you haven't seen, he's probably in one of the most protected places on Earth?!" Ron only calmed when Moody turned his two intimidating eyes on him. The young man seemed to curl in on himself.

"He isn't wrong, Moody," Tonks said. She shrugged. "All we can — should do, for now, is get into constant communication with him and ask if we can get a representative over there."

"The wedding though! The wedding!" Mrs. Weasley piped up, she was furiously wiping a plate that had long since dried. A coping mechanism for stress, perhaps. "He _must_ come for the wedding."

"We invite him, and then hold him prisoner, that's your plan?" Sturgis Podmore asked sceptically. The twins glanced at each other worriedly.

"Harry's safe with them, but safer with us — until he returns to Hogwarts of course," Moody remarked. The Weasley twins and Lupin exchanged an equally skeptical glance.

"We're looking out for Harry," Mrs. Weasley said in a self-righteous sort of way, addressing Podmore, however it sounded like she was rationalising it to herself more than anything else.

Hermione, too, looked somewhat unsure, she was biting her lip as she looked down at the muggle picture of Harry in the photograph. She noticed he looked happy and was grinning as he stroked Hedwig's soft plumage, with the younger Prince Harry right at his side.

Rationally, she realised that Harry needed to be concentrating on the Horcruxes and their future. She knew he planned already to miss their seventh year to hunt them and then Voldemort down, and yet, she suddenly realised that if the paper was to be believed (and they often were, she knew from personal experience) he had just gained an entire family overnight. Two little brothers, two sets of grandparents, parents, even great-grandmothers. Cousins, twice and thrice removed cousins, and so on and so forth.

She was jolted from her thoughts just as an argument broke out: one party was for the idea of sneaking Harry over to the Burrow for the wedding and then holding him prisoner there, the other was for sending a representative to his current place of residence.

"Harry was a prisoner once already," one of the Weasley twins cut into the loud argument with surprising sobriety.

"You told us off then for rescuing him, mum," said the other twin. They both looked quite serious as they spoke. The various arguments that had sprung up dwindled down to nothingness as everyone considered those words.

"If Harry is there, then it is by choice," Hermione continued on their trail of thought. Fred smiled brightly at her, after having noticed that she was on their side.

"And if he comes to the wedding, we won't abuse his trust by keeping him here," Lupin finished with such finality that his feral side almost peaked through. "Albus was a great man, but he loved taking away Harry's freedom. No, he will be 17 in three weeks: an adult and he must be allowed to chose whichever life he so wishes."

"Granger," Moody said gruffly, only the one eye swivelling to look at her. Her head snapped up to him. Even two years after she had had his impostor as a teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts, she was still intimidated by him — the real version. "Wait before writing Harry a letter. We'll send his owl with one requesting to send one of own own over there, to protect him if things get rough."

.

Diana rolled out of her large bed in Kensington Palace. Even after her divorce from Charles, she had retained the double apartment on the north side, so as to be close to her children, who also, during their school holidays came over to stay there. The summer, however, was always reserved for Balmoral — that dreadful place. The family spent their days riding, hunting, and doing so many things for the sake of tradition, that it had made her hate the place all the more.

She had no more servants, as she had had during her marriage, so there was no morning schedule and she was free to wake and breakfast whenever she wanted.

Sighing, Diana slipped into her slippers and strolled over to the makeup mirror, where she applied some concealer to disguise the dark shadows under her eyes: she hadn't been sleeping altogether well, lately, having had the boys in mind a lot.

There came a loud knock on the door, making her pause: this wasn't very common. Only perhaps in an emergency. Her first thought instantly jumped towards her sons and she rushed over to the door — what if something had happened to William or Harry whilst gardening, or hunting, or grilling?

"Yes? Good morning: what's happened?" She exclaimed. The substitute for Charles' royal appearances, John Goodman, stood at the other side of the door, he had been left responsible for the estate while said man was holidaying with his family at Balmoral.

"Good morning, Lady Spencer," the man said. There was a nervous sort of air about him.

"What's happened to my sons?" Diana pressed.

Goodman licked his lips and proceeded to tell her the most shocking yet joyful news she could have possibly received.

* * *

 **I bid you goodnight**


	5. Chapter 5

Hello. I'm back. Hahah, last time I updated was a year ago... ehm. I've been procrastinating. No, in all seriousness, I've been extremely busy with my academic ambitions. I confess, the new trailer for the Crown really inspired me to write this up.

* * *

The Queen was livid when she found out that the news of Harry's existence had been leaked. She had spent the morning fuming in quiet passive aggressiveness. The family had eventually been gathered in the drawing room and they all sat in tense silence as the Queen stood at the window where security patrolled every few minutes, now on high alert since the press had printed an article exposing Harry.

Charteris was there too, the only member of staff currently present. He had had been quietly writing in his folder for a few minutes, Harry had absolutely no idea what. He was sure it was near lunchtime, but no one except the two younger members, William and the younger Harry, seemed to have an appetite for anything right now.

"Your majesty," Charteris said, finally breaking the silence. "Our only option is to hold a press conference. A statement from the Palace will not silence the press, ma'am."

"A press conference is where we will be most vulnerable," the Queen replied, looking at Charteris with such a cold stare that the man almost seemed to flinch.

"Mummy, I don't think we have any other choice," Charles pursed his lips when he had finished speaking. When the Queen spun around with a frustrated, exasperated sigh, Philip stood up and affectionately put a hand on her forearm. Harry was sure this as the first sign of intimacy that he had seen between them: usually it seemed like they held half a metre of space between them.

A servant entered the room quietly and hurried over to Charteris. He whispered something in the man's ear, who in turn, nodded in thanks. The servant hurried off again.

"Your majesty, I have been informed that Lady Diana will be arriving the day after tomorrow, ma'am."

William and and the younger Harry exchanged a gleeful smile. Harry felt some dread and excitement fill him. He was going to meet his mother! His actual mother. His biological mother.

The Queen gave no indication that she had heard Charteris, she seemed deep in thought.

"I must speak to Hadrian," she said calmly. In an instant, the room cleared. Charles ushered his younger sons out of the room. Philip and Charteris remained. Charteris continued writing away in his notebook. Philip stayed at her side.

"Alone," she intoned. Charteris looked up, blinked and then left. Philip still stayed at her side. " _Alone,_ " the Queen said again. Philip staunchly stayed.

"I am your husband, and Harry's grandfather. He is a wizard and I, being a squib, belong the most to his world than anyone in our family." The Queen and her husband seemed to have a stare-off. Finally, her eyes lowered and she conceded. Harry had noted in the day and morning that he had spent with this family, that Philip seemed to have more say in familial matters and she in… well, the rest. At her behest, however, they all sat down on the various plush armchairs.

"You're a squib?" Harry stared at his grandfather with the widest eyes. He vaguely remembered the Queen telling him this the day before. Yet, he had received so much information the day before, that he was uncertain how he had even retained a bit of it.

"My parents were both purebloods and I, having very little magic, was the blight on the family tree." Philip paused here. "I was essentially disowned and sent to Gordonstoun, a boarding school not very far away from Hogwarts. In fact, those who knew of magic there, were allowed to go to Hogsmeade every few weekends."

Harry stared at him wide-mouthed, surprised by this confession. It was wholly unexpected, and yet he was relieved to have someone in the Royal Family cut from the same cloth.

"So, tell me," Philip said seriously, clasping his hands together. Harry exhaled and leaned back into his armchair, grasping the armrests and anxiously moving his hands back and forth.

"My adoptive family were the Potters, my name is Harry James Potter." Harry brushed his hair to the side, revealing the jagged scar on his forehead. The Queen, having already discovered on the very first day who he was, stared on grimly. Philip evidently had some knowledge of what had gone down in the first wizarding war because he began massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Well fuck," he muttered. The Queen faintly (disapprovingly) patted his knee. He rolled his eyes. Harry was reminded of Ron and Hermione.

"Ah, Voldemort is hunting you, the press has outed you as a member of this family, and Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic are on the brink of collapse," Philip continued bleakly. Harry was very quick to realise who the pessimist of the family was.

"It puts everyone here in danger," Harry noted, licking his lips anxiously.

"It's no use crying over spilt milk," the Queen interrupted him. "The news is out. Voldemort and his ilk will know soon enough. Fortunately, our wards are more than competent and will shield us well enough. The trouble is, we have no auror protection — evidently, the Ministry has fallen. Our auror security detail and contact to the Wizarding World vanished a month ago."

"You must know of the Order of the Phoenix!" Harry exclaimed, an idea forming in his mind. "In fact, now that the news is out, they'll be heading over here any day now."

"The Order of the Phoenix?" Philip laughed. "A bit pompous, isn't it?"

"It was founded by my Headmaster and they were partially responsible for the rebellion against Voldemort in the first war. They were actually tasked with protecting me, they must be trying to find me," Harry said with sudden horror. He _had_ sent Ron and Hermione a small letter that same morning, but the Order would be frantically trying to get him back now! Why did _everyone_ want a piece of him?

"Ah, Headmaster Dumbledore would be a good replacement for our liaison with the magical world." The Queen pushed her glasses up her nose.

Harry's head sank. He felt his eyes prickle with emotion and although he didn't quite begin to cry, he did feel his throat clench as he was anew filled with emotion.

"Dumbledore's dead. He was killed by… an agent of Voldemort's at the end of the school-year."

"Oh dear lord," the Queen gasped. She seemed like an emotionally indestructible woman, but even now, she leant forwards and gently squeezed Harry's knee. He sharply raised his head and saw that Philip was staring at him seriously. Harry received a soldier's nod of respect for his perseverance.

"We must contact this Order immediately," the Queen said, returning to her rather factual and rational disposition. Harry too, gathered himself, and nodded.

"They've probably already sent someone over, but I'll send them a letter the moment Hedwig gets back.

"A press conference," Philip interjected suddenly.

The Queen's head sharply turned to him. Her inquisitive eyebrow required no word to come from her mouth. Philip, who was known for being somewhat more forward-thinking, spread out his arms.

"A press conference is the only way to silence those dogs. The media won't stop concocting mad stories until they have actual facts come from the source itself."

"From _me_?" Harry's eyes blinked rapidly.

"That is actually not quite such a terrible idea, dear," the Queen said. Harry again, felt panic. Merlin no! He hated these sort of things; the one for the Triwizard Tournament had been bad enough, and that had been just ten or so reporters!

"It's settled then, a press conference. We'll have to craft a good story, Cabbage," the prince said.*1 Harry was oddly touched by the weird nickname that this stern, old man called his wife. In some ways they were a couple as any other.

"Ah yes, the British public might be ready for a new prince, but certainly not the wizarding world. That is a whole other box of nutty crackers."

.

Harry felt uncomfortable. He generally felt awkward and uncomfortable, but being in this icky and stuffy back-room made him feel even less comfortable than usual. He was sat in a corner sofa of a green room prepared for him at the BBC headquarter studios. It was a drab, minimalist building with low ceilings and tight corridors. Used, and almost spoilt by the beauty and spaciousness of Hogwarts, he couldn't help but feel constricted. Maybe it was the nerves too.

Adults were discussing something. Representatives were fighting with what seemed to be the host of this press conference. From what he had understood, there was some question about the exact security circumstances.

"Your Royal Highness." These words ripped through his monologue of self-pity. Harry's eyes focused on Charteris' face. His thick moustache was suddenly glaringly darker than usual on his very pale face.

Harry stood up and straightened his jacket. He hadn't dressed himself this morning, as ridiculous as it sounded. That same manservant who had woken him up that first day had laid out his clothes and had forced him to help him with his trousers, jacket, and even tie. Embarrassing, was one way to put it.

"It's time, sir," Charteris continued. A woman and a man, representatives of the BBC had instantly given a short curtsey and bow, respectively, the moment Harry had stood up.

"This is Joanne Forest and Richard Bowler. Ms. Forest represents the BBC, Mr Bowler will be coordinating and hosting the Q&A process."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, your Highness," Ms Forest said with a kind smile that didn't reach her eyes. She was dressed in a sharp business suit, that negated her feminine features. The advantage of the muggle world, Harry had thought for some time, was that women often got to accentuate their feminine features, whereas in the wizarding world, they seemed to be constantly hiding behind their robes and cloaks.

"Likewise," Harry said in a tone that sounded much more certain than he felt. He turned his gaze on the man, Mr. Bowler as he opened his mouth to speak.

"It's a delight to get to interview you, your Highness. I've had the pleasure of talking to your father and grandfather before you. I'll try to make it as easy for you as I can. I understand that the questions I prepared were advanced to the Palace a few days ago? I'm afraid we can't control what the journalists will ask themselves in the second part of the interview, though. So I apologise on their behalf in advance, for the questions that they may ask."

"Thank you, Mr. Bowler. I look forward to your questions," he said plainly, attempting to exact a neutral expression. Charteris gave a deep, satisfied sigh. They had spent all of yesterday attempting to get Harry to understand how to answer to improvised questions in a neutral fashion. 'Be Swiss', Phillip had said, before clasping him on the shoulder and asking for his fishing rod to be readied.

A green light in the green room gave two short flashes. Everyone's gazes flashed upwards.

"Well, that's us, your Highness. Shall we, sir?"

It was an interesting picture; a greying, fifty year-old man, bowing and showing deference to an almost 17 year-old.

Harry took a deep breath, before giving a short nod. "Lead the way, Mr. Bowler."

They passed through a long maze of corridors until they finally reached an even warmer place. Suddenly Harry understood the need for all the water-proof makeup. He was also very quickly, very glad to be wearing a blazer, to hide any mark of nervous perspiration. They were still behind the curtains of the podium, but Harry could already feel the heat of the cameras, and the reporters joyfully chatting away.

Mr Bowler flashed him a smile and jumped to the stage, an assistant pushing the curtain to the side to let him pass.

"I'll be glad when this is over and done with," Harry murmured to Charteris, who gave a rare and wary smile in response.

"I'm afraid there'll be quite a lot of this in the future, your Highness."

"—very happy to make welcome His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales!"

That same DA pushed the thick light-isolating curtain aside and a view of the reporters was revealed to Harry. Along with their cameras and flashes accompanying them. Harry aquaria his shoulders, pursed his lips, schooled his expression into the vision of neutrality and demureness and took his first step into the light.

He was instantly accosted by flashes of light, shouts, grins, and calls to look this way and that. He paused for a second in front of the seat provided for him, giving a short wave, before clasping his hands behind his back once more, as he had been instructed to do.

Giving Mr. Bowler's hand a shake, they both sat down. The audience of reporters slowly quieted down, their clapping faded away, as did the shouts, and suddenly the studio became quiet. Harry could see Charteris out of the corner of his eye, standing in the wings of the stage, just out of view to the audience, but providing a kind of guiding hand.

"Good afternoon, very happy to be here," Harry said, his mouth dry. He had paused for a moment too long, having forgotten that usually the royal was expected to speak first. The reporters seemed to let out a collective breath, as though they had been waiting the entire day to hear his voice. He sounded strong enough, he thought.

"We're very pleased to have you here, and be allowed to introduce you to the British public."

A few more of camera flashes

"Your Highness, it's quite remarkable, and very much a miracle, that you have been found after so many years missing. I understand correctly, that you had no idea of your origins?"

"Yes, I'm very glad to have joined so suddenly such a great and large family. I had actually just come back from school when a representative of the Palace greeted me at my home and told me of my true heritage."

"Remarkable," Mr Bowler said theatrically. "How is it to have your world turned upside down at the tender age of sixteen?"

Harry gave a small laugh. The cameras seemed to go crazy at that, attempting to get any flash of emotion other than the neural one. "It was surreal, I assure you. To be whisked to Balmoral, to meet with my family. Gosh, it's surreal even now to have the privilege to belong to such an incredible group of people."

"I can imagine."

He certainly could not.

"So I understand that these past few years, you have gone by the name of Harry — has this already gotten you and your brother confused? Or the family in any way?"

"Ah, well, my brother's name is Henry, mine is Hadrian. Both our nicknames just turned out to be Harry. Very coincidental actually, that my adoptive parents decided to name me Harry. Harry James, in fact."

"Two strong English names," the interviewer said, nodding. He didn't seem nervous in the slight. "You mentioned your adoptive parents and actually, the tragic beginning of your life, seemed to continue with their deaths in a terrible car crash in 1981, when you were just a year old."

"Yes, and after that I went to live with my aunt and uncle." Harry attempted not to give any emotion while saying that phrase. Charteris and the rest of the press secretaries had not understood why he hadn't wanted to talk about his time there, but Harry was afraid that even his lack of emotion would give the press incentive to investigate further. But no matter now, the Order had certainly whisked the Dursley's away by now, to safety. Until his 17th birthday, in any case.

"And what does a strapping lad such as you do in his free time, having grown up quite normally?"

Harry almost gave a frown. This question had been phrased very differently in the original script handed to him that morning.

"I enjoy sports, and some reading. Generally most of my time is taken up by studying and training. Every now and then there is the occasional snow-ball fight between the Houses," he said, giving a small smile. He could see the reporters whispering things into their recording devices. Some were furiously jotting down words onto their notepads.

The interview went on with more innocuous questions, that he carefully avoided, giving only enough information for it to seem as though he had answered it. Then finally, Mr. Bowler pressed a finger to his earpiece and smiled at the camera.

"My producers are telling me that it's time for questions from the public. Time is running short, I'm afraid, so we can only take a few. Yes please — the young man in the red scarf."

A microphone was passed to this young man. He looked only about five years older than Harry.

"Your Royal Highness, it's a pleasure to have you here. I'm from the Telegraph. My question is, what does the future look like for you, will you finish your schooling at Eton, and is University or the military a prospect for you, sir?"

Harry was dumbfounded for a second or two, not having had time to privately thing about his own future in the last few hectic days. Charteris had coached him on several questions though, and he searched his brain for the answer that he had been prepared with.

"The future is uncertain, sir. I quite like the prospect of flying a plane though, like my grandfather before me. Thank you."

There were a few polite chuckles. Of course, what they didn't know, was which type of flying Harry really enjoyed.

"You — at the back, yes—"

"Your Royal Highness; your presence mixes up quite a lot of things in the hierarchy of the Family and the positions in the line to the throne. Could you comment on that, sir?"

"If you're implying any ill-will—"

"I didn't mention any ill will… sir," the reporter shot back. A few gasps were heard in the audience. Harry gave a pause and a small smile. He was suddenly reminded of Malfoy and the verbal spats that they usually had.

"I'm sure everyone is just as pleased to have gained a brother, a son, a cousin, as I am pleased to have gained a family. Thank you." It sounded naïve and just like something that a sixteen year-old would say. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Charteris let out of breath of relief.

"Ah, I think we have time for two more questions. First one there, yes you, in the blue jacket."

It was a blonde woman, young also. She looked extremely exuberant to have been selected.

"Janine Watson, from the Daily Mail, your Highness," she said excitedly. Harry forced himself to hold back a frown. So this was Janine Watson. She had been the one to break the story on him, and had been the one to release the first photographs. 'Be civil, be civil' he repeated to himself as a mantra, but then again, it was like sitting across another Rita Skeeter.

"Pleasure," he mumbled back, almost a little too unenthusiastically.

"Your Highness, I was wondering, is it true that you attend the St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, sir?" A gasp went through the audience at this new piece of information. Harry shifted a little in his seat. She had done some research, so it seemed. At least he'd gotten to know most of his neighbours last summer. Well enough, at least that when he gardened their gardens, the had not spent the entire time peeking out the window to try to spot whether he might steal the shears or the water hose.

He wondered where she had gotten that rumour from.

Glancing at Charteris, he noticed that the man was doing rapid movements with his hands at the producers. The producers behind the cameras began gesticulating at Mr. Bowler, the interviewer to shut down the interview.

Harry though, began to speak in that moment. The producer froze, knowing that to cut him off now would seem more awkward than the question itself.

He glanced into the camera, before settling his gaze on the hungry journalist. She seemed smug at having been able to 'catch' him, so to speak.

"Well Ms. Watson. As dangerous and as scandalous as your newspaper might want to paint me, I can assure you that my life up to this point has been nothing but ordinary." He gave her a small, conspiratorial smile. "Actually, I'll tell you a secret about my criminal activities: I _have_ been known to break the rules every now and then and leave my dormitory at night to walk around the school. Maybe slayed a few trolls on the way."

This produced a short laugh from some of the journalists.

"Well than, last question. Yes that gentleman over there, if you please-"

"Thank you Mr. Bowler. And thank _you_ , your Highness, for being here. I can't imagine what it's like to be thrust into the public eye like this, sir."

Harry gave a nod and a smile in thanks.

"Your question?" Bowler prompted, obviously pressed for time.

"Ah, yes. Your Highness, many of us in the media are wondering, who you are, what your history is, who your friends are and so on. Can you tell us one really fascinating, interesting thing about yourself that the British public will love to hear?"

Harry rubbed at his chin in thought, wondering what he could give away without revealing any hint of the wizarding world.

"Hmm, well you've definitely put me in the spotlight," he joked. A few people laughed. "Well, I own an owl called Hedgwig."

Several people gave gasps or a laugh. There were one or two flashes and a few more clicks of the cameras.

"I'm afraid we've run out of time, ladies and gentlemen. Please join me in thanking His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales," said Bowler, standing up and beginning the clapping. The crowd of reports joined in. Harry gave himself a second or two before shaking the interviewer's hand. By God, he hated this whole theatre already.

* * *

*1 It's quite weird really, the thing with Cabbage. But apparently that's a legitimate nickname that Prince Phillip calls his wife. Don't ask me why, but it just is. Actually pretty amusing haha.

I feel like a lot happens in this chapter, even without a lot happening. It really does show Harry's slight hatred to being told what to do, the authority of it all, his love for family and so on.


	6. Chapter 6

Do I have university work? Should I be planning a 2D laser plan to make my model? Yes to both. But do I want to write? Also yes.

Humour aside (hem hem, 'humour'), I am very thankful for all your extremely kind encouragement. I really am loving reading your feedback - it was unexpected to still have so many readers after a full year away from this fanfiction. So thank you!

* * *

The moment the door opened, and the elegance that was Diana, entered, the room seemed to freeze. The servants in the main drawing room stopped what they were doing. Princess Margaret, who had since also arrived at Balmoral, and to whom Harry had really warmed up to pretty much instantly, dropped her newspaper an inch or two so as to be able to gaze at the new guest over the top.

Charles stood by the window, the only other Royal in the room. He was awkwardly attempting not to look in Diana's way. Harry had read up on the divorce and had asked one or two of the servants around. It seemed that it had ended in an ugly way.

"Harry!" Diana cried out, the moment she spotted him sitting in his armchair, Hedwig on his knee. The owl jumped up, not wanting to be squished between mother and son. Harry was pulled into the arms of a sobbing mother.

"Oh, uh, oh — hi." Harry bit his lip, as they pulled away from each other, confused as to how he should act around her.

"Oh Harry," she breathed out, and gave him another hug. When they separated again, she glanced at the owl.

"And who's this?"

"Hedwig, my best friend, really."

"She's beautiful."

"Careful, don't say it too loudly, she'll get a big head," Harry said with a grin. The owl preened, Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, as heartwarming as this is, I'd rather take my tea in silence," Margaret said dryly from her sofa. She looked rather elegant, sitting there with her cigarette hanging from her fingers, and a paper clutched in the other. Standing up, a servant instantly moved to take her gazette and she waved him off, getting smoke in his face.

She left the room, leaving Charles and Diana alone with Harry.

"Oh, Harry where have you been?" It was a rhetorical question, more than anything. But Harry answered it anyway, just wanting to be in conversation with his _mother_.

"My adoptive parents died when I was a year old. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. Petunia and Vernon. And their son Dudley. We lived in Surrey, in a suburban home."

"Without any of this?" Diana waved a hand at the general room. Harry guessed she was referring towards the actual institution more than anything.

"Without any of it…" Harry echoed. With just their gazes they seemed to agree on the ridiculousness of his circumstances. Hearing Charles's cough of annoyance, Harry hastened to correct his 'comment'.

"And without this as well," Harry said gesturing at her and Charles. "Without parents."

Diana smiled at that. Charles, also more sensitive man than his father gave a small nod of encouragement.

"So, is there any way we can spend the day together, Harry? Or will I be swallowed by protocol?" Diana asked, one arm still wrapped around his shoulders. He was taller than her, which made for a slightly awkward pose for both of them. Harry glanced at Charles and realised suddenly that she was the only person who actually called him by his preferred name. Another thing he realised very quickly was that he actually lived in a fish-bowl here — and he had to ask permission to be by his own. Oh the irony, him Harry Potter, having to live by the rules.

"Sure, I'm sure we can arrange that. How about a walk in the garden… Actually I'd like to tell you both something pretty serious."

The former couple exchanged a glance. Harry nervously gestured to the door that lead to the nearest exit. Once in the very private gardens, Harry clasped his hands, and began:

"My adoptive name is, as you know, Harry James Potter. What you don't know is that the couple who adopted me, were part of a society."

"A sect? My boy, you're in a sect?" Charles exclaimed very suddenly. Harry and Diana shot him twin looks of bemusement.

"Let your son speak, Charlie. Gosh."

"No, it wasn't a sect. Ehem, I don't know exactly how to put this without it, you know, seeming like I'm crazy, but actually I'm a wizard. I belong to a hidden society called the WIzarding World. It exists parallel to the muggle — the mundane — one, always there, but just out of reach for the non-magical."

Charles and Diana had stopped walking, and were staring at him with wide eyes. Harry blushed slightly.

"Hm, well. I guess you need proof." He pulled out his wand from his makeshift rubber-band wand-arm holster and presented it to his parents on his flat palm. The wand wasn't clean, or polished. It looked like a well-used tool. He couldn't exactly use spells outside of school without the Ministry knowing, and in turn the Death Eaters. Then again, what difference did it make whether the Death Eater's were informed, he'd just come out on all the main media stations and newspapers the other day, and declared himself the long-lost heir to the British monarchy. There was no way they didn't know already. Besides, it wasn't like he was going back to Hogwarts now, not with the hunt for the Hocruxes still on. And boy was that still on.

"Expecto Patronum!" He called out. A majestic stag sprung forth, and quickly gave a turn around the trio, head held high, alert, as he looked for dangers ahead. Seeing there were none, he pranced over to Harry and nudged his muzzle under the wizards palm.

"This is Prongs and this is a protective spell. It's sort of a representation of your happy memories," Harry said, smiling wistfully as the memory played out over and over again in his mind.

"I might just want to sit down," Charles said faintly. The corner of Harry's lip quirked up and he gave his hand a short wave. A bench from the gazebo close by zoomed at them, floating to a stop right behind Charles. The prince sat down unquestioningly, too shocked really, to resist any rationale that was telling him to avoid this strange new thing.

Diana supported herself by grabbing hold of Harry's arm. She looked very pale.

"Can anyone learn this?" Were the first words out of Diana's mouth. Then before Harry could answer, she took his worried and anxious expression into account and instantly pulled him into a hug.

"Oh, Harry. You needn't be worried. Regardless of who you are, what you do, we're your parents and we'll always love you."

She pulled away, tears prickling in her eyes. Harry gently let her sink into the bench next to Charles. He paced in front of them for a minute or two, letting them come to terms with what they had seen.

"James and Lily were involved in a civil war in our society, with two main fractions. The Dark and the Light. The Dark side was headed by an evil man named Tom Riddle — his name is an anagram for Lord Voldemort, which is what chooses to call himself. He heard a prophecy when Lily and James were supposedly expecting, telling him that his greatest enemy and threat would be born as 'the seventh month dies', to parents who had 'thrice defied him'. Only two couples fulfilled these requirements. One was Lily and James, the other were the Longbottoms. On Halloween night, Voldemort finally caught up to us, sending some of his lackeys after the other family, having planned on annihilating both of us.

"Lily and James didn't die in a car crash, they died when Voldemort broke into our home and murdered them. When he pointed his wand at me, his spell backfired him, banishing him from the mortal realm."

"Mortal realm?" Charles echoed faintly. Harry pursed his lips. They'd be here till evening if the two didn't get over their initial shock soon.

"He'd performed several obscure rituals by this point to tie his soul to the living, even after his body died. And so 13 years later, in my fourth year, Voldemort returned, with my blood in his veins. See he had a theory, that if I had defeated him once, being reborn with my blood, he'd null the protection. I got away. He's been hunting me ever since. Ah, also the civil war restarted about a year ago. People have been going missing left and right, raids day and night."

"This is a lot to take in, son," Charles murmured. He took Diana's hand, who didn't flinch at the contact. Harry was surprised at their civil behaviour towards one another. From what he'd been told about them, the divorce had been ugly.

"I can understand that. There's more though."

"More?" Diana said, swallowing and placing her free hand on Charles's. It seemed this act of intimacy was not directed at each other, definitely not, rather a reciprocal show support for one another.

"There is a prophecy, tying my fate to his. We're bound. He can only live if I die, and likewise. He marked me when he attempted to kill me as a boy." At this, Harry pushed his fringe to the side, revealing the jagged scar. "This means that he sees me as his arch-enemy, me specifically."

"Wait, wait," Diana began, shaking her head and blinking rapidly. "The prophecy declared that the baby who was born as the seventh month dies… You were born in August!"

Harry bit his lip for a second. He had realised this the very first day when he had been informed of his true identity. Regardless of this, it didn't change the fact that Voldemort had essentially marked him. Dread pooled at the bottom of his stomach, as he realised who was at the mercy of the prophecy now. Oh, poor Neville…

"I don't think it'll matter to Voldemort now. He's on a warpath now, very literally. My friend Neville, is the only other candidate, actually. Voldemort'll just try to kill us both."

"But how do you know of this prophecy?" Charles asked weakly. Harry pursed his lips.

"I broke into the magical parliament in my fifth year with a few friends after having a vision that Voldemort had captured my godfather and was interrogating him there to get his hands on the prophecy that was being held in the prophecy room. My headmaster ended up telling it to me," Harry said this all in one breath, so as to get it over with as quickly as he could.

His parents blinked at him, bemused.

"You broke into parliament?" Charles slowly said, mouth gaping. Diana nudged him with her elbow as though to say that this wasn't exactly the most important fact right now.

Harry nodded sheepishly, cheeks reddening.

"Do wizards have visions a lot?" Diana had now folded her hands on her lap and straightened her back in an effort to look more elegant and put together than she really was, in this moment.

"Uh, not that I know of. See, when Voldemort tried to murder me as a baby, something happened that night to link us. If I'm not actively trying, I sometimes slip into his mind during my sleep… and I experience what he's experiencing. Since my fifth year, we've been trying to shield ourselves from each other, he's obviously been unable to exploit this fact."

"Mindreading? Oh gosh." Charles' tone and expression were incredibly neutral. Then again, Harry supposed that he had been trained his entire life to keep as emotionless and unopinionated as possible whatever the situation. Made for a great prince, but a shitty father, Harry supposed. Then again, beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Sir! Sir!" This call came from far away. A few seconds later, from the thick trees beyond the hill, behind the gazebo, a figure emerged. The manservant rushed towards them. Panting, he arrived at their little group and frowned briefly as he looked from the bench to the gazebo and back to the bench.

"Yes Lancie?" Charles asked, getting to his feet. Diana gazed at the servant over her shoulder, still sitting.

"Her majesty as requested Prince Hadrian's immediate presence. A Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt has arrived, and an urgent meeting has been called."

.

Harry arrived soon at the main drawing room of Balmoral castle. He had left his parents near the gazebo to talk. After all, it had seemed as though they had needed to go over a lot of things, and not just relating Harry.

The Queen was standing at the window, a teacup in hand. If there ever was a more British sight than that, Harry wasn't sure where he'd find it. Kingsley, as promised, was sitting in one of the many armchairs, gazing about with curiosity and looking entirely too comfortable. In his hand he held a familiar envelope.

"Harry!" Kingsley jumped to his feet upon seeing him. A servant or two frowned at the lack of protocol. Harry smiled and greeted the auror just as warmly, giving the man a confident hand-shake.

"How are things with the Order?"

"Moody's pissed," Kingsley said, that deep voice carrying through the entire room effortlessly. He seemed to have no qualms about cursing in front of the Queen. A servant coughed in discomfort.

"Understandable."

"And this came for you — well, I thought I'd hand deliver it to you." Now slightly more subdued, the auror passed the letter to Harry. He took it with slightly trembling fingers. It revealed that which he had already suspected. He'd been expelled from Hogwarts for his second offence of magic use outside of the school. He sighed.

"I wasn't going back anyway, you know," Harry said quietly. "Dumbledore gave me a job to do, and I intend on finishing it."

Kingsley rubbed his jaw for a moment or two. "Just days before his death—"

"Murder, Kingsley, it was murder."

"—Murder, he told me and Remus that you were our best hope. He told us to follow you unquestioningly. That he had passed you some of the answers to questions we didn't even know we had."

"I appreciate that, thank you."

"Hem," came the small, yet interrupting cough from the window.

"Mr. Shacklebolt. I'm glad your promised kind relationship with prince Harry was indeed true. Upon your arrival our wards seemed to accept you, but we couldn't have been sure. Had it not been for Harry's brief mention of you, you would not have crossed the threshold."

"I thank you, your majesty," he said in his rumbling voice. The Queen gave a small, satisfied smile, then clasped her hands together.

"Very well, now that pleasantries are out of the way, shall we get to business?"

"Business?" Harry arched an eyebrow. The Queen gestured to the two sofas and armchair. As they all sunk into their places, she gave another gesture and all the servants cleared the room.

"Indeed. In recent years our roles as royals have been watered down to representative functions. We do not wage war, or command parliament. We serve as a neutral checks and balances system in which we consult, and never take sides. My dear Hadrian," the Queen took a step closer to him. He realised how much he had grown in the past few months — he towered over her.

"My dear Hadrian, Harry. I ask you as your Queen, and as your grandmother, to protect us. The mundane world from the wizarding, and the wizarding from itself. From what Mr. Shacklebolt has revealed to me, the state of your world is indeed dire straits and your position in it is central. You are almost seventeen, an adult. So I hereby ask you to form a military in my name, and revive a long-forgotten title. Perhaps the most important that you will have in your life as prince and then King. Prince Hadrian, do you accept?"

Harry licked his lips anxiously and he glanced at Kingsley who stood a few steps away, head bowed, and eyes lowered as he sought to internalise this private moment. Perhaps even to give them some privacy. The Queen spoke quite informally, and although this was a very important moment, it really did seem like she was simply a grandmother — albeit a very powerful one — asking her grandson to go to war for her.

Kingsley finally noticed someone was staring at him and glanced up. Their stares met, and the wizard gave a subtle nod, before placing a fist on his chest, giving a small bow. He was pledging his loyalty, Harry realised.

He straightened his back, realising fully the importance of his calling. Screw Voldemort, he had an army. "I would be honoured, your majesty. Yes, I accept."

* * *

I hope it's become clear what kind of story this'll become. Revenge, war, some love, some hatred, family. Essentially, it's reflection of the influence that the books I'm currently reading have on me (muddling my way through Moby Dick right now, so that's probably where revenge comes in haha).

In any case, next chapter: got a wedding and some backhanded dealing (thinking of the godfather right now tbh .. that scene in the beginning of part 1 hahah).


End file.
